Romanticist
by veils
Summary: Tseng/Aerith; His life is a graveyard of buried hopes, and she is just another tombstone.


**Romanticist  
><strong>By: veils  
>Final Fantasy VII, <strong>TsengAerith**; His life is a graveyard of buried hopes, and she is just another tombstone.

* * *

><p>... ... ...<p>

He can't faithfully remember the first time they met. He'll hang his head, mentally going through every memory of her, trying desperately to recollect that bygone day. Slowly details begin to emerge: foggy and distorted, missing pieces like a puzzle.

She was sitting at the altar of that decrepit church; with spiraling curls falling onto her face and eyes full of wonder as her hands dug deep into the earth. It was raining, he recalls; he can still smell the rain, still conjure up the tune she was humming to herself.

"_Why hello there. I'm Aerith. And you are?_"

He seals his fate the first time he hears her voice.

... ... ...

He visits her like clockwork every single day. Her look of contempt at his appearance in the church has been slowly replaced with a smile that could be identified from an outside party as friendly. She expects him, now; he notes she looks out of sorts when he is not on time, or doesn't visit at all. He blames it on Shinra -the workload has been heavy lately- and she says she understands, but remarks that she's gotten used to seeing his face everyday: could be called disappointed when he doesn't come 'round.

He ignores how his heart begins to beat faster and faster, listens intently as she tells him all of flora. Sometimes she speaks of her dreams for the future, he does too, occasionally.

... ... ...

Some nights (more nights than he would care to admit) he lies in bed, stares up at the ceiling fan and listens to the low hum of the air conditioner. He tells himself it doesn't matter; tries to extinguish the flames in his heart, and fails miserably...so miserably.

There are times in between the days that people cross off the calendar like a countdown to nothing that he believes she is his reason for living. That maybe she is his fate, his destiny, the one purpose why his heart beats fiercely from within. That the only reason he exists at all is so she'll always be protected, safe; so she'll keep on smiling and planting flowers.

... ... ...

The years begin to pass. He discovers a grey hair. Sometimes in passing conversation she calls him "_her Tseng_." He protects her and watches over her like a hawk: some whisper with far too much conviction and closeness then someone appointed from Shinra should have. She's developed an affinity for hand holding when she sells flowers in a particularly dangerous place. He's stunned how their hands perfectly fit.

It's then he dares to dream of the possibility of them constructing a life together: free from Shinra, free from everything. Where she can perchance open a flower shop and he can live without the chains and shackles the company places upon him.

She drops his hand when they arrive back at the church.

The dream dies.

... ... ...

There's a flower cart and a new ribbon in her hair and "_This is Zack Fair, my friend_," and by God she makes him jealous. There's fire in his eyes and that night solace is found with a bottle.

... ... ...

"_I was wondering if, well, you could send these letters to Zack, please? Or if you happen to see him_..." Her voice trails off and her face reddens, handing a stack of letters wrapped with a ribbon and a light perfume emitting from within.

If there is one thing he's come to realize over the years, it's the fact he cannot deny her anything.

He murmurs: "_Of course_." Tears his eyes from her hopeful gaze, brimming with love he can never even dream that will be for him.

"_My Tseng, always so dutiful. What would I do without you_?"

(Those letters still to this day reside in a safe in his office, never having been seen by the intended)

... ... ...

And the days are fleeting, and so are memories of the past.

She now associates his name with the word "betrayer."

He finds it oddly easy to strike her across the face.

Because he is not a good man.

(_Because his occupation and Shinra will always reign highest in regard: because Shinra has made him but a shell of a man over the years. He thought once she could've been the one to bring warmth back into his life; gave up on that foolish notion when he noticed her affections had been transferred to a strife ridden man with oceanic eyes and melancholic past)_

__He realizes now he'll never be the one that her heart beats for.

… … …

"_Aerith!"_

He cries out her name in fervor as he thrashes about in a hospital bed, clinging to life after an attack from that silver haired madman. Hands reach out to grab something (_someone) _not there: the doctors simply shake their heads and call him "_a poor soul." _

Poor soul indeed, longing for a woman that will never be there.

... ... ...

He can faithfully remember the first time he learned of her death. He'll hang his head, mentally going through an agonizing hell, trying desperately to forget that bygone day. But it cannot be forgotten; it is perhaps punishment for the wrongs that had been caused on his part: fate's way of laughing at him.

She was enchanting and lovely and never his. She had been the only pure thing in his somber world. And she was gone.

_Gone. _

_Gone. _

_Gone. _

And she never knew.

Aerith Gainsborough never knew how much she had been loved.

... ... ...

His heart had died a slow death. It became as skeletal as a tree; lonely as a graveyard.

(_Tseng's life is a graveyard of buried hopes, and Aerith is just another tombstone_)

… … …

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><p><strong>AN**: Tseng/Aerith will always be one of my FF OTP's, due to the angst and tragedy and general "_what if_" aura that looms over this couple.

This was really an experimentation. I haven't written in the longest time, so I'm only now finding my voice again. The writing style is something new as well: trying to use names and conversation at the minimum.

Thoughts, comments, and assessments are adored. -_veils_


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